


Primum Non Nocere

by FaerieChild



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 14:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13525920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaerieChild/pseuds/FaerieChild
Summary: Surgeon Claire Beauchamp understands the long established principle of the medical profession that first, one should do no harm. But what happens when a married Claire Beauchamp meets the free and single Jamie MacTavish?





	Primum Non Nocere

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally going to be longer, but it got the this point and it has never gotten any longer. Sometimes you have to respect that point at which a story wants to stop. So this is it for now, posted as a finished 'short' story. If I do write any more in this universe it will probably be as a sequel and probably not until I have finished Laverick, which will be a while. But please leave a comment and let me know what you thought.

 

Ms Claire Beauchamp closed the file on her last piece of paperwork for the day and shut down her computer. She had rarely been so happy to finish a day’s work and was looking forward to her regular cycle trip home.

 

The locals called it The Inner Tube, the network of off-road pedestrian paths and disused industrial railway routes that spread like veins through the city. It would take you almost anywhere if you knew where to go and after a long day's work inside air conditioning, Claire always looked forward to the feel of the wind in her hair and the greens of the wild flowery verges. She changed in her office and rolled her work clothes into a neat roll to pack in her pannier and quickly said her goodbyes to her colleagues before signing out of the building.

 

There was comfort in the routine. Check over the bike. Clip on a helmet. Smile at the queue of patients and visitors waiting for the bus. At least the bus service was regular and cheap and everyone used it. It was also crowded and at rush hour, often slow. It wasn't just that Edinburgh was not a city built for heavy road traffic or the awkward prospect of bumping into patients' family members on public transport. Claire relished the opportunity to clear her head and blow out the cobwebs from too long spent indoors. She had only lived here for a matter of months, but already she was finding she liked it a lot. The city was beautiful, not too big or too small. There was a thriving network of cinemas and theatres, a beach on the edge of the city and the glorious Highlands only a few hours away. It was a fresh, clean break after her return from deployment with the Army medical corp. Half-hearted attempts by military bureacracy to coordinate Frank's living arrangements and deployments with years of medical studies at the University of Glasgow and later numerous work positions scattered across the UK often made no one happy as Claire worked her way up the medical ladder and fought to gain the experience and expertise required for her dream job – trauma surgeon.

 

Some years after marrying Frank, with all the strains of a long-distance relationship, Claire had joined the Territorial Army to try and create something in common between them. The training was tough, it had made her a better decision maker and a better leader but instead of bringing her closer to Frank it only made things more complicated.

 

Claire felt the distance grow between them once she was asked to undertake six months on deployment as an army trauma surgeon. Claire had gone on as steep a learning curve as she had ever endured as a junior doctor, learning and relearning everything she thought she already knew and when she came back, her husband felt even more of a stranger than he had been before she left.

 

Coming back to the day job had been something of an adjustment and also, made her reasses her whole life. In a matter of months Claire Beauchamp had quit the military, and her day job, and moved to Scotland. Claire couldn't deny that the prospect of being asked to go back was not one she relished but over and above that, coming home Claire had realised with a pang of guilt how little she had missed Frank. How much of their life was simply about having someone to come home to. Anyone at all. She had quit her job soon after and moved to Scotland.

 

Claire knew that in many ways she was more fortunate than most. Her new job was challenging in a way that suited her and pleasantly patient-focused. She was paid extremely well and her salary had allowed her to move into a beautiful detached house in Duddingston, only a few miles from the Hospital and one of the more upmarket parts of the east side of the city. On a nice day Claire liked to detour through Holyrood Park on her way home and loop around the magnificient Arthur's Seat but on other days she found she could cut across the city from Little France with no difficulty, recalling as she did every day the stories of Mary Queen of Scots at Craigmiller Castle that gave the hospital's neighbourhood its name. The bicycle ride was a good way of shaking off the lingering threads of thought from that day's work – the patient who hadn't made it, another that might not make not make it through the night – and she had absolutely no intention of substituting one set of worries for another one by letting the niggling voice of doubt about her marriage eat into her mind.

 

Claire had quickly become a pragmatist in her line of work. You did everything that you could, when you could, to the best of your abilities and at a certain point accepted that you could do no more. Sometimes, trying not to worry had to be forced, but she was off duty and once she had rested she was determined to enjoy herself. It was a beautiful summer evening with the parkland of the city's green spaces shining brightly in the golden evening light. With a sense of mental determination, Claire had built herself into quite a chipper mood by the time she cycled in her front gate and opened her front door to hear the telephone ringing.

 

Claire unclipped her helmet and picked up the phone, answering with a brusque, “Hello?”

 

“Hello, Claire.”

 

And just like that all the high spirits deserted her. It was Frank.

 

 

They had met when Frank was an officer, married and set up house. Claire had been working her way up the ladder of medical experience and Frank was regularly on deployment. It had been a whirlwind romance and a quick engagement with a small, hurried wedding before Frank left on deployment. Something about the military life made you cherish what you had. You knew all too well that someone might not come back and that life was easier with the benefit of married quarters. In hindsight, now, Claire wondered whether there hadn't been more whirlwind than romance. Over the ten years they had been married Claire had consistently worked the long hours of an hospital doctor climbing the ranks and Frank's position meant that even when he wasn't off on deployment they had often lived hundreds of miles apart, coming together on snatched marathon-sex weekends. It was in Afghanistan that the thought had first occurred to her, whether it wasn't the idea of having someone to come home to, rather than the particular spouse that had held them together for so long.

 

Even now, as she heard his voice down the line, her heart sank but she bit her lip and tried to force herself into being optimistic. Her decision to leave her previous job and take up a new position in Scotland was something Claire allowed Frank to think had been his idea. A fresh start, he had been saying, because rather unexpectedly Claire's attempts to take control of her own life had prompted her husband to do the same. Somehow her assertive decisions had put the idea in his mind that it was about time he followed her example and she had barely unpacked before Frank was talking about leaving the military and finding a civilian job in Scotland.

 

“Frank,” Claire forced a smile into her voice.

 

“Darling, I am so happy I caught you. I haven't got very long. Look, I know this is going to sound rather astonishing but there's a PhD programme at the University.”

 

Claire's mind was still on her bike ride. The fresh air, the trees, dodging the potholes and the local professional cyclists who seemed to think they were cycling the Tour de France. “What?”

 

“I've always talked about academia, haven't I?” On the other end of the line, Frank Randall paused and waited for his wife. All he heard was silence. “Claire, is everything alright?”

 

“O-of course!” Claire forced a smile through her voice. “I'm sorry, Darling, I just finished a shift, I literally just got in. I haven't even had a cup of tea yet, I'm exhausted.”

 

“Oh I'm sorry, Darling, but just think! Claire, we could live in the same place. No more sacrificing our love life for the sake of our careers. We could even put my name on the house. Start a family. Haven't we always talked about starting a family?”

 

Start a family? Claire knew that Frank knew she wasn't on contraceptives. Hadn't been for nearly eight years. After all their dirty weekends with nothing to show for it, a family would most likely come through IVF at this point. Wasn't that something she should want – living together? Children? One roadblock after another threw itself up in her mind, jarring again and again against what her mind felt right. Struggling for something to say, she reverted back to an old classic, wincing at the floorboards even as she did so. “It's certainly worth thinking about.” Claire knew that her husband had long since learned all her tells, her ways of acknowledging his words without necessarily agreeing.

 

Frank paused at the other end. “Actually, I was thinking of visiting sometime.”

 

Claire recalled their conversation from a few days before, sharing her joy at having nothing to do all weekend and rolled her eyes. Well, it had been a while and she wasn't a nun. “Let me guess, you've already booked a train?”

 

A warm, dirty chuckle filtered down the line. “You know me so well. Train leaves about six in the morning, I should be there by lunch. I'll need to be back Sunday night but we should have a good twenty four hours together.”

 

“I'm looking forward to it already,” Claire lied and fought the niggling remembrance from her deployment that bubbled up to the forefront of her mind. Quickly, she squashed it back down. At long last she laid down her cycling helmet and collapsed into a soft chair.

 

~

 

The remembrance always came back to Claire her sleep, the memory of yet another lengthy surgery, of brusque requests for more plasma as she and the rest of the trauma team tried to stop a man's leg bleeding out. The teflon undergarments they now issued at least prevented from some of the horrific genital injuries that had once been common amongst roadside bomb and IED victims and if they could stop him bleeding out, this one would be lucky.

 

_One of his knee joints had miraculously survived the blast that had torn off his other leg from mid-thigh. She had finished up the stitches and left her team to finish up while trying to power on through long enough to clean up and make her way back to her sleeping quarters. The main hospital had been busy enough but what caught her eye was the bright russet-red hair of a squaddie sitting waiting patiently with his arm sitting at the most awkward angle. With one look she knew he had a dislocated shoulder and Claire also knew how painful such an injury could be. It was the work of moments to put it back in place, but with a series of serious trauma injuries and limited resources, anything non life threatening had been put on the back burner. She was exhausted and on her way home, but in a split second his startlingly blue eyes caught hers and she found herself requesting the notes from a nearby nurse._

 

“ _Identified himself as McTavish but we haven't been able to find his notes yet. X-ray showed no sign of breakages and no other injuries reported.”_

 

_Claire looked up from the sparse medical history he had given which was clearly riddled with holes and found herself examining him. He was quite muscular, but that wasn't particularly unusual in this line of work. No appearance of steriod or drug misuse, some minor contusions and brusing appearing on his arms. He wore no insignia or identifying features and he was wearing just a t-shirt and trousers, meaning no jacket was present to have his name stitched into it. “McTavish, is it?”_

 

“ _Aye,” The man nodded._

 

“ _You've been here for how long and your Rank, Unit and Number are still incomplete?” Claire raised her eyebrows._

 

“ _Royal Regiment of Scotland,” McTavish responded._

 

_Claire looked at him long and hard. His eyes never left hers, communicating something silently. She got the overwhelming impression of strength and safety and yet, a thrill of danger at the same time. A frisson. He was tall, McTavish. Over six foot standing, probably, with bright red hair and ice blue eyes and not a hint of grey so probably still in his twenties. He worked out – a lot – even by Army standards and had something of a noble bearing but it was his eyes that captivated Claire. Yes, this was a man who had the potential to be extremely dangerous...but not at the moment. And not towards her. She held his gaze for a moment longer and then flipped the folder closed and gave the tiniest of nods, acknowledging his silent request for discretion. “You're not a man of many words, Mister McTavish, are you?”_

 

_A chuckle escaped McTavish's broad, muscular chest. “Sassenach, ya havenae e'en introduced yersel', and ye speak to me o' no havin' mony wirds?”_

 

_When he spoke like that, his accent so thick she could barely comprehend him, Claire could only smile. An image flashed in her mind of what he might look like in a kilt and she took a step closer. “Ms Beauchamp at your service.”_

 

_Mister McTavish's eyes flickered up to hers from where he stood. “Not Doctor Beauchamp?”_

 

“ _I'm a surgeon, not a doctor,” Claire responded. “This will hurt.”_

 

“ _Aren't you supposed to ask permission first, Surgeon Beauchamp?”_

 

“ _Your arse belongs to the Army, McTavish, but if you'd rather walk around with a dislocated shoulder for the rest of your tour by all means be my guest.” Claire challenged him but paused all the same, a challenge in her gaze which Jaime searched and then nodded curtly. Still, the man's gaze stayed on her face, watching carefully as the woman manhandled him. Claire knew that she was rather slight and was often underestimated by the testosterone muscle-bound squaddies that surrounded her. A smirk caught his lip that seemed to reflect exactly those thoughts and then a pained grunt, muffled by McTavish himself as Claire reset the joint._

 

_Even behind the flare of pain and the lingering ache it left behind, Claire thought she sensed a flicker of surprise at this turn of events. In order to do her work, she was now standing rather close to his body and Claire could not help but notice the way his nostrels flared. From their respective positions where McTavish sat and Claire stood, her breasts were close to his face and she took the moment of distraction to make the crucial move that popped the shoulder joint back into place. McTavish grunted heavily._

 

“ _That will ache for a few days. Best not do anything too strenuous, keep to light duties and for God's sake don't hit the gym and start doing bodyweight bench presses, believe me it isn't worth it. Do you want some painkillers?”_

 

“ _I'll be fine. Thank you.”_

 

“ _Alright. Take some paracetamol if you need to. Nurse?” Claire handed the notes to the nurse and instructed him to give McTavish a quick run-down of post-dislocation shoulder care. She dared not glance at the man but caught sight of his thick russet curls one last time. Wherever the man had come from, he had been there long enough to outgrow his regulation haircut, and Claire could feel the man's eyes on her arse all the way out the door._

 

_Inevitably, circumstances being what they were, they met again from time to time. McTavish clearly wasn't his real name and he clearly wasn't around camp very often. Nor did he seem to spend much time training with the units that were permanently based there and she never caught sight of him leaving or arriving with any of the regular patrols or units being posted as relief to a select number of heavily protected outposts. They met once in the lunch queue and McTavish's eyes smiled, a smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth even when he tried to keep a straight face._

 

“ _Beauchamp, wasn't it?”_

 

“ _McTavish.”_

 

_The man had had a haircut since she saw him last, but he still wore no insignia. Claire gave his body a quick downward glance out of the corner of her eye and caught sight of a corner of green felt which was hastily shoved deeper into his pocket._

 

“ _How's the shoulder?” Claire pressed._

 

“ _Very well, thank you.” He looked at her for a long moment and then switched his attention to the attendant serving his food and gave Claire a nod of goodbye._

 

_Was McTavish Special Forces? It would make a lot of sense. The reason he concealed his real name, the reason he officially identified himself with a unit whose insignia he did not bear. The complete absence of any insignia, in fact, on his uniform. The odd pattern of his appearances and disappearances from base. Claire watched McTavish gather his tray and disappear out the door – yet another oddity if only for the fact that no one picked up on it. Claire herself found an empty table and ate as much as she could before duty called and she was needed back at the hospital again._

 

_The third and last time Claire caught sight of McTavish was on the final shift of her final day, an hour before she finished. Three casualties coming in hot and she only had to catch a glimpse of those over-long russet curls and thought she hadn't seen the man in months, something about the way he had always looked at her, with a mixture of amusement, heat and humour lingered in Claire's mind. Now the man was out cold, flat on her trauma table and his back a mess of flayed flesh, blood and skin. It was the first time she had seen such a wound and, she hoped, it would be her last._

 

Claire awoke at home feeling hot and flustered from the jumbled memories. Standing close to McTavish with his eyes on her as she set his shoulder. The way he smiled at her in the lunch queue. The way he reached to clutch her hand when he was supposed to be unconscious from blood loss with his back looking like something straight out of an Amnesty International report from Saudi Arabia.

 

Hoping her morning routine would quiet her mind, Claire threw herself out of bed and went for a quick jog before making a cup of tea and going for a shower. She dressed and made another cup, cradling it as she stood leaning against the worktop in the kitchen looking out over the greenery of the back garden.

 

_Feeling an odd sensation against her hand, Claire looked down to find the patient's strong masculine hand brushing against her own. Initially she pulled her hand away._

 

“ _McTavish,” Claire leaned over the prone body of her patient. His eyes were wild, delirious through pain and whatever had happened in the process of the events that had led him here. McTavish's eyes searched her, his hand scrabbling for hers. Something she saw in his gaze them decided Claire's mind for her and in that moment, she decided to let him. McTavish clutched it like a drowning man at a life preserver._

 

“ _Real?” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper._

 

“ _Yes. I'm sorry to say this is very real, Mister McTavish. We'll get you on some morphine, ok, it will ease your pain considerably. When was the last time you ate?”_

 

_McTavish's eyes flickered as he searched his own mind and then shook his head with a shrug. His movements were sluggish and kicking herself, Claire immediately checked for signs of dehydration. “We need to set up a saline drip set up and get a suture kit in here. Start cleaning his wounds. I'm going to scrub up.”_

 

Claire had left the theatre and dashed straight for the transport with barely enough time to rip off her blood-soiled theatre gown. When she blinked back to the present from her memories, the soft cooing of the local pigeons and the twittering of the gardens birds reminded her of where she was. Her tea was cold and it was nearly time to leave for the station. She thought about taking the car, but she hated taking it into the city centre, all those clogged up old streets that were built centuries before the automobile was ever invented. No, the bus was a little slow but the stop was merely a few minutes walk from the door and they could get a taxi back.

 

When she got to the station Claire found the platform number on display on the central board and arrived with a few minutes to spare. Before long the train pulled in and a flood of people began to make it's way along the platform. At first she didn't spot Frank, he was an expert at blending into a crowd, but she blinked and there he was, coming towards her in a plain brown mackintosh. He looked at her for a long moment and Claire waited for the feeling of joy to overwhelm her. It never came, and so she forced a smile.

 

“Hello, Darling.”

 

“Claire!” Her husband smiled, grabbed her face between his two hands and kissed her on the lips. Claire endured it and forced another smile, looking to quickly move things along.

 

“It's wonderful to see you, Darling, but the taxi queue is terrible when the London trains come in. We should hurry. Do you need help?”

 

The taxi queue was terrible and Frank bided the time smiling at his wife and directing gentle, restrained touches her way that gave the promise of something more and made Claire feel mildly uncomfortable. They finally got to the front of the queue and rode in silence, Frank sitting very close in the back of the car and glancing at her every so often as Claire stared pointedly out the window. The silence felt somewhat strained, expectant. Sure enough the moment they were in the door Frank was on her and Claire let him tangle his fingers in her hair and kiss her neck and press his erection against her hip before gently pushing him away and leaving her husband in the hallway, panting, resting his forehead against the wall.

 

Claire, without a word, went to the kitchen to boil the kettle and pulled out two mugs and two tea bags. Frank stood in the doorway, watching her and loosening his tie. Quite why he had dressed in a suit and tie Claire wasn't sure, but his formal attire didn't help her feel at ease with him.

 

“Claire?” Frank spoke very quietly.

 

Claire half turned around, turning her cheek in his direction. “It's just...been a while.” She suspected, without saying so, that it hadn't been quite so long for him.

 

Frank cleared his throat, “Of course.”

 

Claire made the tea in silence, feeling the weight of Frank's gaze on her.

 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

 

Claire said nothing, but put his cup of tea down on the opposite side of the kitchen table and tentatively Frank crept in and took a seat, watching his wife's body language carefully as she sat down opposite, cradling her mug.

 

“Did something happen? Is this about your tour?”

 

Claire hushed him and told him to drink his tea and then led him into the bedroom and started undressing herself with Frank clear across the other side of the room, watching as she sedately folded her clothes, removing each item one at a time. It was hardly the emotional, passionate reunion Frank had set himself up for, but still... “It is good to see you, Claire.”

 

Claire nodded.

 

“Claire...”

 

Still his wife would not look at him.

 

Claire could not bring herself to look up. She heard Frank's sigh as he turned and headed out of the bedroom into the living room, heard the quiet scruff of his hand over his shaving stubble as he ran his hand over his chin. When she realised Frank wasn't coming back, Claire followed, half dressed.

 

Slowly Frank turned around and attempted a smile. “It's fine,” He cleared his throat. “You must be tired, from work. Why don't you have a lie down or something and I can watch some telly?”

 

Awkwardly Frank tried to decide where to sit. Sat down, stood up again, tried another seat and compared the angle for the television. Stood up once again in search of the remote.

 

How much a stranger he looked in her house, for it was her house. Not their house. She tried to imagine doing this every day, Frank sitting watching football on a Saturday afternoon. Eating dinner together, Frank telling her about his day as he sliced through perfectly boiled baby potatoes.

 

Mundane. Awkward. Stilted.

 

Claire didn't lie down in the end, she went out into the garden and stared at the birds that came, chirruping, to the garden feeder in the cherry tree. Happy little things. House sparrows and blue tits and little red bullfinches. Later she found an excuse to go out for some groceries and when they did eventually head to bed after dinner their reunion was something of a let down.

 

He still looked good, still slim and handsome, the noble features of Frank's face and his warm eyes ever the same and yet Claire felt so distant from them, could not bear the concern in his eyes when he realised she hadn't come as well.

 

“It's fine,” Claire lied to him and tried to pretend it didn't bother her that he had put up no protest at her request he use a condom. Still her husband's eyes lingered on her as Claire rolled over and pretended to sleep.

 

“I know it's hard, coming back,” Frank said quietly. “You...need more time.”

 

Claire closed her eyes and dreamt of scars, the groan of pain and red auburn curls, the clutch of a hand that would not let hers go. Early the next morning, before Frank was awake, Claire rose and went for a jog when she returned Frank had already risen and dressed and had made breakfast, with a soft smile and courteous touch of his lips to her cheek. “We'll work it out,” Frank promised.

 

Claire stared back at the smile and nodded, trying to be grateful for the breakfast and for the suggestion of a walk later on. They ended up in the Royal Botanic Gardens, walking in golden sunlight underneath the bough of one exotic tree after another, taking in the beautiful petite chinese bridge in one corner and later on, after coffee and cake, the view up to the city centre. For the rest of the trip Frank was a gentleman. He never pressed her for sex again, and Claire kept her composure just about until they got to the train station where Frank lingered at her elbow with that concerned expression that made her want to scratch his eyes out.

 

“Call me, if you need anything. Anything, Claire.”

 

“I'm fine, Frank,” Claire insisted.

 

Frank pressed his lips together. “Sometimes it's only later...” He paused and seemed to think the better of say anything more. “And I'm sorry to say it but lack of interest in sex is typical, actually.”

 

“Frank, please! We're in public!”

 

Frank settled back into his quiet concern until his train was announced with five minutes to go and he leaned in and pecked her on the head with a gentle steadying hand on her shoulder. Claire stood in the middle of the concourse, watching him walk to his platfrom alone and knowing she should follow but unable to bring herself to do so.

 

As soon as the train pulled out of the station, Claire's legs nearly went out from under her. She viciously suppressed a sob that welled up in her heart and kept her restraint all the way to the ticket office where she bought a ticket for the first train she could find going in the opposite direction. Work tomorrow was still hours away and she needed to be anywhere that wasn't here. Inverness was hours away meaning it would take her the rest of the day to get there and back, which seemed to Claire to be as good a use of her time as anything.

 

For five hours Claire travelled through the heart of the highlands, the barren empty landscape, the trees nibbled down to the roots where naught but deer lived, the sheep and the ruined crofts, the overgrown remnants here and there of what had once been a sheiling or a garden. Desolate. Emptied. A lone ghillie on one desolate hillside, dressed in well-worn tweed, passed a pre-prepared hunting rifle over to his charge. Claire never did see the stag, or whether they got it.

 

The train pulled into Inverness at tea time. She looked up the trains back to Edinburgh and decided she had just about enough time for a bite of dinner. The next train didn't leave until nearly seven which meant it would be rather late by the time she got back but at least with work in the morning she could look forward to heading straight to bed. Claire was having one last cup of coffee in the station cafe before it would be time to head back home again and she focused on preparing herself for work again the next day.

 

In the background there was laughter. Distance seemed to help Claire feel calmer and she was sure that after a few hours more of mindless scenery and tea and sleep she would be feelings steady enough to get a good night's sleep before work tomorrow. A flash of combat patterened fabric caught her eye and she turned her head, curious, to find a short woman with dark hair pulling a combat-clad man into her arms.

 

“And for heaven's sake call, ya clot-heid!”

 

The tall man's laughter rumbled from his chest as he embraced the woman – a lover? No, not quite. Something else, something familiar. He stepped back from the woman's embrace and Claire saw his head for the first time, his short back and sides in a distinctive auburn red and the hair slightly longer on top, just starting to curl before it was hidden by a soft beret that was put on and tweaked with the expertise of someone who was well used to doing it multiple times a day.

 

“How do I look?”

 

“Verra smart,” The woman acknowledged. The woman stepped forwards and brushed imaginary lint from the front of his uniform. “I know you can't say very much, but Arbroath isn't so far.”

 

“I'll visit,” The man promised and the more he spoke, the more he moved, the more he smiled the more Claire knew it was him.

 

McTavish.

 

Hastily Claire ducked her head down over the mince and skirlie she had bought for her tea.

 

Across the station, the man in uniform stopped, his eyes for a moment on the hunched figure at the cafe who looked so familiar. No,it couldn't be. Beauchamp was English, wasn't she? Why would she be in Inverness?

 

A tannoy jarred his thoughts and reminded him he had to be back on base by mid day tomorrow. It wasn't just that he worried about a cancelled train making him late, or the delays of weather or bus replacement services. Asking Jenny to drive him to the station was a mite easier in the evening with Ian home and the kids on their way to their beds than at some ungodly hour of the morning. Mindful of the time, he kept walking to his train, glancing every so often at the woman huddled over a plate of dinner and staring studiously at the table top in such a way as to prevent him from seeing her face.

 

Across the station, Claire held still, trying to blend in to the sparsely populated surroundings when suddenly the tannoy announcement went off.

 

_'Due to unplanned engineering works the...1850 Scotrail service to...Edinburgh Waverley...has been...cancelled.'_

 

A collective groan went around the few members of the public hoarding empty coffee mugs in the vicinity of the cafe. Clearly, Claire had not been the only one waiting for that train. Amongst them Claire could spot a few students, doubtless headed back to university after a weekend at home.

 

_'Please be advised that for stations between Inverness and Edinburgh Waverley a bus replacement service will be available from outside the station. Valid tickets for Edinburgh Waverley will also be accepted on East Coast Mainline services via Aberdeen.'_

 

Immediately all of the students rose as one and headed for the row of platforms as another tannoy announced the train for Aberdeen was about to depart.

 

“Quick!” One urged, “Hurry!”

 

“I'm so tired I don't think I can,” Another replied.

 

The first student whipped around. “Look, it's either run for this one or be stuck on a bus for the next – God knows – nine hours or something. They probably haven't even got a bus ready yet!”

 

The tired student picked up their things and hurried along, the horror of a bus replacement service enough to spur along any lingerers headed down to the capital. Claire hopped onto the first carriage as the guard on the platform hurried a few stragglers along before blowing the whistle.

 

Claire made it just in time. The door hissed closed behind her and immediately the train began to move off. She looked around at the packed first carriage and decided to walk on along the train. It got quieter, the further along she went until in the end carriage there was only a scattering of young students looking half-asleep and, at the very end, a single passenger, dressed in combats, settling in for an evening nap. A young red-headed squaddie occupied the last table at the end of the carriage with his pack stuffed on the overhead luggage rack and his feet propped up on the opposite seat.

 

When the carriage doors hissed open Jaime blinked his eyes open and found himself caught, staring. He tried to ignore the way his whole body tensed and his heart skipped a beat. Every fibre of his being sang, coming to life with an awareness of her presence as she continued to walk down the carriage, inspecting one seat after another until she found his table and stopped beside it.

 

“I-is this seat available?”

 

Jamie motioned for her to sit and watched her.

 

“Ms Beauchamp...”

 

Claire watched him watch her for a time and then looked down and cleared her thoat, not knowing what to say. The last time she had seen him she had been trying to scrape together the remnants of his back. He looked younger now, less sure of himself. The boots came off the seat and he shifted awkwardly in his seat, hands playing at his fingernails for a distraction. “I thought it was you,” She said at length. “In the station.”

 

Jamie stared, “Sassenach...” A single breath. He blinked, his face carefully schooled and blank of all emotion.

 

Claire saw something flicker in his eyes but it was quickly suppressed. Yet she found herself smiling, softly. “That's me.”

 

“You got back safely, then?”

 

“I did.”

 

“And you're here. In Scotland?”

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Claire tried to joke but her laugh sounded a little hollow even to her. It had been a long and trying day.

 

Jaime just nodded, perceptively. Every sound he made, every twitch of muscle in his face, every glance of his eyes drew him to her even under the harsh flourescent lighting of the inside of the train carriageway.

 

Claire cleared her throat and continued at length, “It's quite an adjustment, coming back.”

 

“Aye, it is at that.” Jamie paused for a moment, “Still in the TA's?”

 

“No, I quit when I got back. It was interesting, a learning experience, but I'm not sure I was doing it for the right reasons.”

 

“And what would that be?” Jamie asked curiously.

 

“I was doing it because I thought it would bring be me closer to my husband. Instead it only seems to have driven us further apart. He threatened to move in with me and I found the first job I could at the other end of the country, which isn't a promising sign for future marital bliss.”

 

“You're working at Raigmore?” Jamie asked in astonishment.

 

Claire shook her head, “No, Edinburgh. I was just...just making a trip, really.”

 

Jaime took this in and then ducked his head, looking down at his hands. “I apologise, that was impertinent of me.”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“I have no business prying into your marriage, Beauchamp.” This time when Claire looked at him she met his eyes when he chanced a glance at her face and met his startlingly blue eyes, all the clearer for the way they contrast with the copper and auburn tones of his hair, even short as it was. “I was just surprised, that's all,” He finished softly.

 

Dare she say it, but Claire couldn't help but think Jamie's expression of astonishment was almost hopeful and she found herself wondering at how easy it was to fall into his company, how safe she felt in his presence. Though Jamie was well over six foot and had a lingering undercurrent of strong and lethal, somehow she also found him to be warm and companionable and, if she was being honest, rather handsome with his strong features and warm, interested eyes that flickered towards her as he asked mild-mannered questions and pretended disinterest in her answers. Claire had always had the sense of mystery around McTavish, of hidden layers that she glimpsed only occasionally in the unguarded flicker of his eyes.

 

“How's the back?”

 

“Healing,” Jaime smiled softly. “You left instructions in the notes to use some smelly herbal stuff.”

 

“That smelly herbal stuff is very good for newly healed skin, I'll have you know!”

 

Jaime grinned unrepentently. “Aye, it is at that. And the lads give me a good ribbing for it an' a'.”

 

Claire accepted this shared titbit of information with a smile. She could well imagine the reaction of a group of hardened special forces soldiers to the 'smelly herbal stuff' but it said rather a lot about Jaime that he used it all the same. Silence stretched between them, the elephant in the room from a moment before sitting there. “You're surprised that I don't live with my husband, aren't you?” Claire blurted at last. She had no idea why she felt compelled to explain the circumstances of her marriage to McTavish, but for some reason it seemed important to her that he understood.

 

Jamie shooks his head, “It's really none of my business.”

 

There was a frission there again the way her heart beat a little faster when she saw him, the draw she felt towards his presence but Jaime seemed to be setting the tone. Claire nodded, composed herself and forced a lightness into her voice. If he was going to be adult about this, she could manage that too. “She seems nice,” Claire offered.

 

“Who?”

 

“Your...the woman. At the station?”

 

“More a bloody hellion than nice but I suppose siblings have their uses. What about you?”

 

Claire found herself blindsided at this declaration. The woman was a sibling? His sister? She shook her head. “I...what?”

 

Jaime grinned, apparently enjoying the game of wrong-footing her as Claire realised she'd been played. “I was just curious to know if you had any siblings, Beauchamp. But that's me being impertinent again.”

 

“Only child,” Claire said simply. Yes, there was something there. She could feel it when McTavish smiled. Something powerful perhaps. Something Claire couldn't explain. Something she had never felt before. It was all she could do to sit demurely, her hands folded neatly as he heart beat itself out of her chest and think of Frank. Her husband, Frank. The husband she had just cold-heartedly sent back to his mistress. Mistresses. Or however many of them there were.

 

Jamie noted that she seemed on edge. Hardly a wonder after the last time they had seen each other. Yet Jaime sense a glimse of something else going on as well, something personal, perhaps. Here she was in front of him, the woman who had saved his life, a woman he had not been able to get out of his mind since that fateful day and, if Jamie was being honest with himself, for some time before that and all he could do was pry and poke like some randy bull at a heifer. He told himself to behave. Silence fell between them and Jamie found himself working hard not to stare at her too directly, such was the power she held over him in close proxmity he found the exercise rather more difficult than expected, not to mention maintaining an air of artificial casualness as she spilled secrets about the state of her marriage.

 

“Actually, we haven't lived together in ten years,” Claire blurted. Immediately she could tell she had captured McTavish's interest again and now she'd started she found she couldn't stop. “I tried being an army wife, it didn't stick. I couldn't stand the waiting, I wanted to be doing something so I studied medicine. I was away at university and he was away on tour. He had his job and I had mine and he was away so often and moving around such a lot that there was always bound to be travelling involved regardless. Once I'd qualified, had a few years as a doctor under my belt and could begin to specialise I jointed the TA's thinking I could get a better understanding of his work as well as gain more experience as a Doctor. I wanted a new challenge and combat medicine is about as challenging as it gets. As it turned out, I did gain some new insights, through gossip, but at least he had the decency to shower and wash the lipstick off before his infrequent visits home. I know now that sex on tour is more common than people think. Stress relief, I suppose. But more than that, the discovery of the real state of our marriage made me focus on myself, more. On what I want.”

 

Jaime lifted his chin, slightly. “And what is that?”

 

“To be the best damned surgeon I possibly can be. To have a career that matters in my own right.”

 

“And you don't have that?”

 

“I do, in a way, but Frank's a bit what you might call, old-fashioned officer class.”

 

Jamie's mouth open wide as he let out a soft, “Ah. And being the officer's wife is not to your liking?”

 

Claire didn't answer that one. It wasn't so much being an officer's wife as being Frank's wife that seemed to be the issue right now, and that was a difficult thing to admit to herself nevermind someone she barely knew. “You've been taking care of the scar tissue, I hope?”

 

A wry, twisted smile, “Damned nuisence putting sunscreen on it, let me tell you.” Jamie noted the abrupt change of subject and decided to tread more carefully. “But aside from the inconveniences, I owe you a debt of thanks for what you did for me.”

 

“I was just doing my job, McTavish.”

 

He muttered something Gaelic that sounded like a disgreement but Claire didn't understand the tongue and decided not to press the matter.

 

Across the table, Jaime muttered curses at her self-effacing tendencies only to realise he had spoken out loud and told himself once again to get a grip. He liked her too much to see her scared away by prying questions, married or no. Stick to something milder, he told himself. “So, what are you doing with yourself now? Edinburgh, you said?”

 

Claire nodded, “The Royal.”

 

“Which one?”

 

An old joke of the Edinburgh medical establishment. The Edinburgh Royal was shortened name of the local Infirmary serving a large portion of the city but bore an almost identical name to the Royal Edinburgh as the specialist mental health hospital was known. Claire supposed as a combat soldier, Jamie might know a thing or two about that particular section of her profession, but now was not the time to venture into that minefield. “The Infirmary,” She clarified.

 

Jamie nodded.

 

“And when are you due back?” Claire said, striving for some neutral subject to distract herself from the thick copper curls on top that were barely tamed by his short back and sides, or the way his uniform creased when he flexed the muscles of his arm. McTavish had always given off the impression of strength. He worked out as was required for his job but more than that, McTavish's strength to her had always been one of reassurance, something that she found inspired an almost wistful longing that was faintly ridiculous.

 

“Noon,” McTavish cleared his throat. “Tomorrow.”

 

“You like Arbroath so much?”

 

Jamie only smiled, “Jenny's got wee ones, ken? Couldnae really ask her to get up before dawn and drive me two hours to Inverness for the mornin' train, aye?”

 

“Ah,” Claire smiled politely and tried not to think of Frank's ominous suggestions about starting a family. It had been eight years since Claire had used birth control and in eight years Frank had never gotten her pregnant. Nor, so far as she was aware, had any of the flings her husband insisted on pursuing resulted in bastard Randalls dotted around remnants of the former British empire so far as she was aware.

 

One they had started talking they kept talking and they talked, in fact, all the way along the Moray Firth coastline and through the Aberdeenshire countryside and then down to Aberdeen, pulling into The Granite City. The night was getting cold and still, the street quiet with only the slight movement of a body here or there huddled up in a scarf and jacket, collar turned up against the chill wind off the North Sea.

 

Claire couldn't even remember what had started them laughing, but before she knew it they were full of high spirits and spent the next while nudging each other playfully and smiling and cracking jokes. He had a beautiful smile, Claire thought, and she couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to run her hands through his hair, or what his hair looked like when he grew it out a bit. Jamie McTavish's eyes beheld her warmly, a hint of shyness but with intent.

 

Before too long the pre-recorded, bit-piece voice on the tannoy announced that the train was now approaching Arbroath and Jaime's smile melted as he reached over the table and touched Claire's hand. Claire's mouth went dry, her heart in her mouth as a strong pulse of desire rippled through her. He was so gentle, so strong, so warm and she wanted him. Suddenly things were serious, the laughter bubbling away like a breath of steam in the wind as Jaime softly stroked her hand and every time his thumb found a patch of softness amongst the dry skin of her over-washed hands, it was like electricity.

 

“Thank you, Beauchamp,” Jamie said very quietly. “For your company.”

 

“Don't get off,” Claire announced out of the blue. “Come to Edinburgh. You don't need to be back til tomorrow. You can head north in the morning.”

 

“I couldn't impose.”

 

“You're not imposing, it's my house, I own it. There's no one there but me.”

 

Jamie made an indistinct noise in his throat.

 

Under his hand, Claire turned her hand so that her palm faced up. Jamie didn't stop and, a strange sort of panic seizing her, Claire kept talking.

 

“I mean I have a sofa, you know, you don't have to...but if you want to...God, I'm awful at this I haven't done it in years.”

 

“Years, aye?” Jamie asked mildly, a wicked glint of humour in his eye.

 

“Oh, shut up you Scottish bastard!”

 

Jamie's shoulders shook with laughter, “Well, Sassenach, you've got a mouth on you sure enough, we'll make a Scot of you yet, no?” But he mellowed and shooks his head, her hand still lying in his, cherished. “But it doesnae matter what I want. You're a married woman.” He broke his gaze and looked down at their hands.

 

Claire dropped her voice. “Jamie,” She spoke quietly but with a certainty and assurance in her voice, “Would you like to come home with me tonight?”

 

Jaime nodded.

 

Arbroath came and went and still Jamie sat in his seat, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin. A soft smile lit his face and then his courage seemed to falter. “I...Claire...about that sofa...”

 

Claire looked at the uncertainty in his eyes and decided that distracting him might be the best way of postponing the awkward discussion of bed-versus-sofa until they had at least gotten off this blasted train. “Tell me about your family!” She announced out of the blue.

 

To Claire's surprise the history of Jamie's extensive family, generations upon generations of them and cousins upon cousins in Scotland, the United States, Australia and other extrant parts of the former British Empire took up the rest of their journey to Edinburgh. The short history of Claire's family – her parents death and her late uncle – took up almost no time in comparison and seemed rather sparse. Her childhood had involved endless moving and travelling and the Army life that ought to have suited her instead lacked the excitement of archaeological digs and the adventures of youth her earlier travels had entailed.

 

They took the bus from outside the station. Nearby a homeless man was huddled up in a sleeping bag piled with cardboard. Claire had offered to get a taxi but Jamie insisted he was happy with the bus and twenty minutes later they were at her door, Jamie carrying his pack as Claire fumbled with the keys. He hovered behind her, awkwardly, the silence strained in the darkness. The light of the streetlights shone in through the open windows and Claire went around closing curtains and switching on a few lamps while Jamie politely took off his shoes and cast his eyes around to get the lay of the land. It really didn't feel like a married couple's home. It lacked the homely touches. There was something slightly sparse and impersonal about everything. No pictures of loved ones, no artistic endeavours by nieces and nephews decorating the fridge. There was a a small collection of books on a coffee table, one on flora, another on herbal medicine. A collection of medical textbooks in what appeared to be the study-slash-guest room with the promised sofa bed.

 

Claire's stomach rumbled.

 

“I'll put the kettle on, Aye?” Jamie offered, desperately grasping for something to do and before Claire could object he was finding his way about the kitchen.

 

“But you don't even know where things are.”

 

“Unless you're some sort of heathen, Beauchamp, most British kitchens have a kettle and some tea, do they not?”

 

“Well, yes, but...” Claire trailed off as she watched Jamie fill the kettle and turn it onto boil, find the mugs and the tea bags and the milk and sugar. A sharp piercing feeling went through her heart at the realisation that this almost stranger looked more at home in her kitchen than her husband ever had. In this light, the soft light from the small lights she kept dotted around, his hair shone auburn and copper, the fine outline of his muscled buttocks, the curve of his back round his waist and up past his ribs made her want to reach out and touch him. Instead she dug into the fridge and found some leftovers that would do for a late meal, reheated in the microwave. It was a simple supper, especially considering Claire was no great cook, but Jamie insisted he had eaten far worse and they shared nervous smiles over their hurriedly thrown together meal as Claire worked out a way to invite him to bed.

 

“Claire...”

 

“Jamie...”

 

They laughed together, the awkwardness only increased.

 

Jamie shuffled his chair closer and took her hand across the kitchen table. “Look, Claire, I know you likely didn't ask me here to sleep on the sofa and I can't deny that...that I find you a very attractive woman...I'm not much in the habit of...that is...” Jamie trailed off and cleared his throat. “I don't do this.”

 

Claire searched his eyes, but his gaze was guarded. Strong, intent, but guarded. “Ok...”

 

Jamie sighed and squeezed her hand. “Have you ever been to church, Sassenach?”

 

“I...yes. I was raised Catholic, actually.”

 

Jamie's eyes showed surprise. “You were?”

 

“Well, God's honest truth I've barely been to church since my confirmation. I'm not exactly what you'd call a regular church goer.”

 

Jamie nodded. “Well...I am, as it happens.”

 

Claire's heart was pounding nearly out of her chest. Her head ached, suddenly. He was rejecting her. He was turning her down, wasn't he?

 

“I believe the body is the temple of the soul, that it's special and you don't sully it by behaving wantonly,” Jamie stopped himself. “I'm sorry, that's not...I don't mean to imply that you're...that is to say I'm not criticising anyone else's conduct, it's not my place to do that. Only God can do that. But my own choice has been...not to...engage, as it were...in....” Jamie swallowed a lump in his throat.

 

Claire blinked. “What?”

 

Jamie clutched her hand like a lifeline, his fingers continuing to weave their way over Claire's, making paths on her skin. “I've always believed that you should keep yourself for when it's special,” Jamie said quietly. “And I know that's old fashioned these days but it's my belief and my choice and I needed you to know that.”

 

“B-but you've been on tour. You've been to Afghanistan .You've...” Claire searched Jamie's eyes.

 

“Aye, well, if it's just about getting your rocks off there are ways and means, you know? And God knows there's plenty of lads get around a bit and everyone needs a bit of something after battle, but we're not all out there sowing wild oats everywhere we can find.”

 

“So why the hell did you accept my invitation? Why didn't you say something?” Claire exclaimed.

 

Jamie looked her straight in the eye with the most intense look she had ever been on the receiving end of, his eyes narrowed, radiating desire and passion. It went straight through her core and with the way he was drawing delicate circles on her palm, Claire could feel herself getting wet. “Why did I accept your invitation?” Jamie whispered. “Isn't it obvious?”

 

“NO!” Claire exclaimed.

 

Jamie didn't meet her eye but looked down at her hand and cradled it carefully in his, a thumb now passing back and forth tenderly over the soft skin on the back of her hand. “Because it feels special, when I'm wi' ye. And I cannae rightly explain it, but...from the moment I met you I cannae stop thinking about you.”

 

Claire watched him worship her hand. There had honestly only ever been one man in her life, it wasn't like her to do this either but somehow she suddenly felt woefully inadequate in the light of Jamie's words. “So, have you ever...?” Claire asked.

 

“Oh, a reckless fumble of youth, years ago. There was a local lass, had a crush on me. I embarrassed myself so quickly I'm not sure it actually counts,” Jamie smiled softly.

 

“Doesn't it bother you that I'm married.”

 

“Aye,” Jamie's thumb made small movements over her fingers as he looked at their joined hands. “Does it bother you that I'm not?”

 

Claire's mouth twitched slightly at his poor attempt at humour and then she picked up his hand and walked him through to her bedroom where she closed the door and drew the curtains and switched on a small bedside lamp on either side of the bed as Jamie stood watching, apparently stunned into silence. When she had nothing else with which to distract herself, Claire found herself beside him and tentatively his hands reached out towards her, wound around her neck and pulled her in for a kiss.

 

It was delicate, searing, and wanton. A kiss that made her moan and move her lips and lean in yearning for more as his luscious soft mouth teased hers and then Claire opened her mouth to his tongue and she sighed heavily as Jamie's mouth plundered hers, arousal swelling inside her as his hand plied itself in her hair and his body walking her backwards until they hit the chest of drawers. They broke apart, gasping.

 

“Where the hell did you learn to kiss like that?”

 

Jamie grinned, his forehead resting against hers, his hand still tangled in her hair and his hips pressing into hers, his half-hard erection pressing into her abdoman. “I'm no a monk,” Jamie laughed.

 

Claire breathed heavily, feeling the way her nipples strained against the plain t-shirt bra she had put on that morning, the way the wires had long since begun to dig into her ribs. Her lips were swollen, her breathing shallow, her stomach littered with butterflies. Claire only had to look at him like this, his sparkling blue eyes and his hungry expression to feel the heat of his desire and want him in return. Feel the way her body yearned for his.

 

Jamie's hands clutched her face and then moved, mapping the shape of her head, her neck the shape of her back and the hem of her top. Her jacket came off, then button-by-button her blouse as well. His touch was delicate and gentle but sure as he unhooked her bra and slid it off, hands at once going to soothe the red marks where it had dug in and Claire sighed liberally at the glorious sensation of freedom. Jamie's nose trailed down her neck and Claire bit back a moan. She had always loved her neck being attended to in foreplay but for some reason Frank had never found it particularly erotic. The promise of Jamie's touch was fleeting as his body continued it's descent and a mouth attached itself to her nipple, his hand coming around her back to support her as he suckled, plucking at it with his lips and flicking it with his tongue. Claire moaned and clutched at his body wherever she could find it. Jamie's hand popped the button on her jeans and found the fly. He pushed her jeans and underwear down only enough to allow him to slip his hand inside, finding her wet.

 

Claire moaned and clasped Jamie's neck in her hand, grasping the short hair in her fingernails, digging in where his skull met his head in a way that released tension he didn't know he held, making him groan. Sensation went through him as Claire's hands roamed his body, his skin desperate for her touch but there would be time for that yet. He wanted to see her come.

 

Claire whispered encouragement as Jamie's eager hands gently explored her, parting her lips and finding her clit, teasing her, laughing when he found a particularly sensitive spot. Jamie's kisses fell on her mouth again and then he pulled back and Claire looked into his eyes as two fingers slid inside and curled forwards, searching. “Practically a virgin my arse!” Claire muttered and then cut herself off by biting his ear. She moaned harder and let her body fall into his when he found her sweet spot. Jamie's other hand came around her body, holding her up as he saw to her pleasure.

 

“Well, I might have satisfied a lady once or twice. Wouldnae be gentlemanlike to leave a lady hanging now, would it?”

 

“Oh?” Claire gasped as a wave of pleasure swept through her. Jamie watched her face, hoping he was reading it right, that she was taking as much pleasure from this as he thought she was. He could see the pleasure building in the tightness around her eyes and let his head fall against Claire's soft curling hair.

 

A warm, dirty chuckle rumbled from Jamie's chest as his thumb found her clit and he gently teased the pleasure out of her, feeling her muscles start to twitch as the sounds Claire was making began to increase in volume.

 

“Yes!” Claire gasped.

 

Jamie kissed her temple and kept his hand moving in a steady rythym as Claire fell over the edge. Only when the orgasm began to tail off did he start his thumb moving again, sending her spiralling into another one. “Aye, mo lennan, that's it...”

 

Claire clung to Jamie's body, gasping for breath she rested her forehead against his. “I'm not sure that any man who can do that to a woman can really call himself inexperienced,” Claire nuzzled her head against his. Her arms felt limp and sated with pleasure but her hands found the belt at his waist and began to take off his uniform. “Now,” Claire smiled, “My turn.”

 

Claire worked out very quickly that Jamie liked having his cock sucked, that he in fact became completely insensible with the sensation. Grinning she pulled back the foreskin and swept her tongue round the head before pulling back and looking up at him. One of his hands fondled her soft brown curls, the other clutched the nearest piece of furniture as he let out a long groan and fought himself with all his willpower.

 

“Jesus, Jude and Saint Bride!”

 

“What blasphemy coming from a good catholic boy,” Claire smirked, gripping his firm erection in one hand and using her thumb lightly on the head as he had done with her clit. Jamie's expression when she looked up and met her eyes was deep and needy, something primal in him was stirring and Claire knew it was time. Well past the point of first time nerves, Jamie's expression was of a bone-deep need to join as one and Claire slowly stood up, stepping out of her jeans and finished undressing Jamie who stood there, watching her. One hand fell to her hip and once he was undressed she pulled his other hand around her waist as well and pulled him backwards towards the bed. They fell horizontal together, Jamie on top of her. He was strong, muscular and smelt of sweat and earth and something distinctly Jamie. Poised ready, he stopped. “I don't have a condom.”

 

“Fuck condoms,” Claire grasped his buttock, trying to pull him towards her.

 

“Claire, I cannae.”

 

Her mind fuzzy with elation and pleasure, Claire struggled to understand what he was saying. “Please, Jamie.”

 

“Claire, I cannae do this without telling ye...my name's no McTavish.”

 

Claire let her head fall back to hit the pillow. “Well then?”

 

“It's Fraser. James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.”

 

“Noted, Fraser.” Claire grasped him at the back of the head where he had been so affected before and dragged his mouth down to hers for a searing kiss. She could feel his thick cock straining against the soft skin of her inner thigh, her legs parted welcoming him. Jamie had slightly more in girth than Frank, his pubic hair was a shade darker than his head but more than that or the impressively muscular torso he obviously worked so hard to maintain it was the serious, intent, passionate look in his eyes that arrested Claire and made her stop and focus.

 

So close, he was so close. Jamie focused on Claire with all his willpower, surrounded by her heat, the smell of her body, the feel of her skin. His heart beat itself out of his chest as he resolved, he would not embarrass himself.

 

Claire waited. She needed to feel him, needed to feel stretched and filled, to know how he moved within her but he didn't move and so Claire forced herself to speak. “Jamie?” Claire breathed and raised her knees, changing the angle between them so that he head of his cock crept closer to her vagina. “Now fuck me.”

 

In one smooth move Jamie pulled out and thrust hard. Claire found herself crushed by his weight as he stretched her, slid in halfway and then pulled in and thrust hard to the hilt, an expletive falling from his lips as he began a punishing pace.

 

Claire struggled to breathe, tried to get his attention but he couldn't see or hear anything beyond his own pleasure. “Jamie,” She gasped, “You're crushing me.”

 

At once he slowed and pulled his head back.

 

“Elbows,” Claire squeaked and taking the hint, Jamie propped himself up on his elbows and then fell back into his passionate, unskilled rutting that still, somehow did it for her. Maybe it was because she loved that he was so enthusiastic, maybe it was because occasionally – and more by accident than design – he really did hit the right spot or maybe it was just because she'd been fantasising about this since the first time she had cast eyes on him. Sooner than Claire would have liked and yet after longer than she expected Jamie's rhythm began to stutter and Claire was able to slip a hand between them and finish herself off as Jamie came hard inside her, filling her with hot spurts of cum and leaving her fucked out and sated, blissfully still. He paused, resting his forehead against hers. Slowly, Jamie pulled out and moved off her, settling on his side and pulling her into his chest. He didn't speak and so neither did she. Jamie's hands couldn't seem to help themselves mapping her skin, the curve of her shoulder, the sweep of her back.

 

“Tell me how bad it was later, Aye?” Jamie muttered and Claire could only smile as he drifted off.

 

“I take it your first time wasn't on a bed?”

 

“Tree,” Jame mumbled and his chest shook with a warm rumble as he curled into her.

 

Claire let out a giggle at the way he said it and tried to imagine him a few years younger, being lured outside and taken in hand by some precocious girl with a crush on him, of which there were many no doubt. Normally Claire would have gotten up at that point and cleaned herself up but on this occasion she felt little compunction to move from her present position and instead rested her head against Jamie's, letting the moment be between them. She felt happy, at peace, and it was wonderful. Safe and warm in his arms. Impulsively Claire kissed the skin of his chest where her head lay and a little grin crept onto her face at the unexpected turn the day had taken.

 

Jamie woke up a little while later. Claire felt him come to as his breathing changed but she said nothing as the hand on her back began to move, smoothing up and down her ribs. At length he shifted and Claire felt a kiss of his lips pressed into her soft brown curls. “So,” Jamie paused, “How was it?”

 

Claire felt his body shift under her and knew he was trying to look at her face. A warm feeling welled up in his chest at the wary expression on his face. “Ok,” She offered with a smile.

 

Jamie's head fell back against the pillow. He had a distinct feeling Claire might be trying to spare his feelings. He felt Claire's petite hand spread out against the curling copper hair at his sternum.

 

“It wasn't terrible, you just need a little practice is all.”

 

Jamie's mind roused at that and he shifted onto his side the better to look at her. “Oh, practice is it?” Claire looked beautiful like this, her eyes wide and dark and a hint of a warm blush on her features, lips swollen from kisses. Already he wished he was back inside her. Almost of it's on volition his hand went to cup her breast and Claire teased him with a knowing look that made him break eye contact. Was he so obvious? “So you wouldn't be opposed to another go, then?” Jamie asked hopefully.

 

After round two Jamie decided he always wanted to make love with a woman riding above him, his hands set about her waist and her hair falling over his face.

 

He fell asleep, holding in her in his arms and a soft smile touching his lips.

 

In the morning Claire awoke sharply, with the distinct impression that something had roused her. She gave herself a moment and realised she was at home. The bed was warm so Frank must still be here and she suppressed a groan at the thought. Tentatively she blinked open her eyes and saw a red-headed man standing naked in her bedroom trying to find all his clothes. McTavish. Jaime.

 

No, not McTavish. Fraser. Jamie something-something-something Fraser and in that moment the night came rushing back to her and elation filled her at the sight of him. He still hadn't spotted her so Claire propped her head on her hand and watched in amusement as he found his t-shirt, his underwear and then turned around in a spin, still naked, looking for his trousers.

 

“On the chair,” Claire added helpfully. While it was amusing, she did not want to be responsible for making him late back to base.

 

Jamie's head whipped up and the bundle of gathered clothes fell once more to the floor. “Yer awake! Christ, and here's me looking like I'm tryin' tae sneak out like a canny wee bugger...”

 

Claire only giggled. “Well you could try but by the looks of things you'd have to sneak out half-naked.”

 

Jamie's eyes narrowed. “Now, Sassenach, have a bit of pity for a starving squaddie and help me find my clothes, aye?”

 

Claire wasn't the slightest bit interested in dressing for breakfast. She could feel herself getting wet just looking at him, his wanton enthusiasm, his laughter, his slightly self-effacing manner juxtaposed with his self-confessed crush on her made her want him all the more for one last time before he left. She was a little sore, in that way of well-used muscles but the ache was mixed with another sort, the ache of wanting and Claire pulled back the covers, revealing herself to him. She hadn't cleaned herself up last night as she usually would and his dried cum still stuck to her thighs as she offered herself to him.

 

“So help me Beauchamp, ya shouldnae do that or I won't be able to stop myself.” In spite of his words he stalked towards the bed, obviously with the intent of covering her up but his hand stalled on the covers as his eyes met hers. Claire stared at him, openly, and watched as his erection began to rise. Staring at her all the while he took himself in hand and stroked himself a few times to get himself stiff and then kneeled over her. “I've heard it said it can hurt a woman, that a woman can be sore after, and tender...” Jamie trailed off.

 

“A little,” Claire acknowledged and then pulled him down towards her, her hand joining his to guide him in.

 

“I'll try and be gentle, then,” Jamie's eyes were tentative but as he joined with her the warmth and the rightness of it a visceral thing between them. Claire canted her hips slowly and then pulled away, guiding him in a gentle rhythm.

 

“Slowly,” Claire urged him.

 

Jamie nodded and followed her lead. Claire decided the orgasms were well worth putting off food.

 

After morning sex they made breakfast, Claire let Jamie take first turn in the shower and then took her own turn while Jamie made porridge. As tempting as the thought of sharing was, Claire knew they were actually on a schedule here to get him back to base on time and so she was surprised when he sat at the kitchen table and asked her to sit on his lap. She never did anything like this with Frank but to humour Jamie she acquiesced and Jamie amused himself alternately feeding her and holding her, nuzzling her with his face and tenderly touching her hands with his fingers. Claire had had an opportunity to see his back in the clear light of day when she had awoken first thing and there had been clear, pink, new skin visible and scarring well. That meant that it was healing, as well as it might at least, and presumably why he was being sent back to a well known Special Forces base. Claire could only imagine he was being sent back from light duties to regular duties again, but she knew better than to ask. There was a comfortable, intimate silence between them that was at once both unfamiliar and yet the most familiar thing in the world, as if they had been doing this all their lives.

 

“Your scars are healing well,” Claire said quietly.

 

“Aye,” Jamie's lips twitched upwards. “Thanks to you.” He looked at her for a moment longer, almost said something and then smiled and went back to the porridge, stealing a bite for himself before feeding more to Claire. “I could get used to this, Sassenach.”

 

“So, not a total write off then?”

 

Jamie snorted. “Don't be daft,” And then he grabbed her hand and made small movements over her thumb the way he had with her clit last night. She was still dressed only in her dressing gown. “Can I see you again?”

 

Claire returned his smile and entwined her hand with his. Somehow the tender looks and touches felt more real, more resonant than ten years of sporadic visits from Frank or the awkward awareness when she shared his bed of every other woman who he had surely been with in the intermissions between marital rendez-vous. The emptiness, the lack of connection she realised now could not be made up with what had once been quite fantastic sex.

 

“Can I ask you something, Sassenach?”

 

Claire searched his eyes and touched the thick russet curls on top of his head that even a military cut did little to hide. “Of course.”

 

Jamie looked down at their twined hands and then back up at her. “Is it always like this? I mean, when a man and a woman are together.”

 

“No. Not always. Sometimes but...no,” Claire shook her head and it turned into a caress as Jamie raised a hand to trace the long line of muscle that joined her skull behind her ear.

 

“So I'm not mad in thinking, in feeling that...I can feel something between us, mo lennan, that I cannae explain.”

 

Claire touched her hand against his on her face and tried to find the words. “I can't explain it either.”

 

 

Jamie said no more. They ate their breakfast for a little while and then Jamie went to check his pack while Claire got herself ready in double time, a skill well practiced from years of getting up at all hours of the day and night for work and insisted on accompanying him to the station.

 

They got the bus again, sitting together on the ground floor of the double decker while Claire checked the trains on her phone. “We're a bit neat so we should probably think about getting off early and going in the Calton Road entrance instead of waiting to get off at the main entrance on Princes Street,” Claire advised him. It was rush hour and the traffic was a nightmare. She found herself fidgeting again and again with her phone until Jamie confiscated it to put his number in and then returned it by slipping it into her coat pocket. Instead of allowing her to grasp it he slid his hand into hers and they sat side by side holding hands for a while as the bus got busier and busier around them.

 

“I thought you said yesterday you have work today?”

 

“I'm on a late shift,” Claire explained.

 

There was so much more to say and yet with the pressures of time and a busy public bus now was neither the time nor the place. They got off at Leith Street and walked down past The Black Bull to the Calton Road entrance where Claire helped Jamie find the ticket office. The train was fortunately on the board for Platform 2, right next to the central atrium and they had a few minutes to purchase a coffee and spent their last moments together huddled on the platform, laughing like schoolchildren around their steaming coffee. The elation of their stolen night together, the feeling of unbridled joy at having found each other marred only by the bitter knowledge of the iminent departure of Jamie Fraser.

 

“Jamie, I know you'll be in barracks, and I know enough to know you can't talk or explain...”

 

“It's not that I don't want to, you understand. It's no just whether I've signed a wee bit o' paper. I'd be putting you in danger, Claire, if you knew things.”

 

Claire thought back to the Jamie who had been on her operating table. He was thankfully no longer her patient or all of this would be extremely unethical. The draw she felt to him was like nothing she had ever experienced and with a pang she realised she had barely thought of Frank since meeting Jamie. “I'd like to see you again.” She told him simply.

 

Jamie slipped his hand into hers, something that was fast becoming a habit. Not that she could blame him, for some reason words just flowed more easily with the physical connection between them. “I cannae forget that you're a married woman, Sassenach,” Jamie whispered under his breath, “I ken I shouldnae want you, I ken...you're no really mine.”

 

“Please don't say that,” Claire urged him in an urgent whisper. Her hand cupped his freshly shaven jaw. “Please, Jamie.”

 

“I'm not imagining it, am I? You feel it too. What it is between us?”

 

Claire could not respond in words, her heart already ached for the loss and he wasn't even gone. Instead she reached up to cup a hand around his neck and brought his mouth down for a kiss. It was heart-rending, tearful, passionate and they were both breathing heavily by the time they broke apart. Jamie watched her, his eyes dark and intent as her breast heaved for breath. “No,” She said at last, “You're not imagining it. Will you write to me?”

 

“To own the truth, Sassenach, I'm no great correspondent but aye, if yer brave enough to try and read my writing I'll happily send it to you.”

 

“You're talking to a Doctor here,” Claire teased him, “It can't be that bad.”

 

Any further attempt at conversation was cut off by the tannoy announcing the train at platform two was about to leave. Jamie cupped her cheek one last time, his eyes committing her face to memory. Then without a word his hand slipped from her grasp, he turned away, shouldered his pack and stepped onto the train.

 

 

 


End file.
